


Left Hook

by Nomme_de_Plume



Series: The Pursued, the Pursuing - AU [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomme_de_Plume/pseuds/Nomme_de_Plume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya discovers a hidden talent, with some help. Set in Prohibition-era United States. If you haven't read the rest of this series, give it a try!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Hook

If anyone had asked Arya, the only reason she was carefully balancing a tray of lemonade and cookies, picking her way across the lush green lawn of Riverrun was because it was hot out, and she knew Gendry and Jory had been working in the garden all morning. Surely they’d be hot and would want a drink. If someone had told her Jory’d already gone into town, Arya had been practicing her surprised ‘Oh! Really?” reaction all afternoon. She was ready.  
  
She heard the rhythmic sound of flesh on leather long before she got to the garage, but it still stopped her in her tracks to see Gendry working a punching bag he’d hung in one corner. He’d stripped off his shirt and had obviously been at it for awhile, judging by the way the sweat had cut lines in the dirt streaking his arms. Arya swallowed hard - she’d seen a shirtless boy countless times before - with three brothers and Theon, how could she _not_? But Gendry was different.  
  
Gendry also hadn’t noticed her. His attention was focused solely on the battered bag hanging in front of him, his fists landing exactly where he wanted them to every time. Arya didn’t want to interrupt and just watched for awhile. After some time a line of sweat trickled down the back of her skinny calf, and she impatiently scratched at it with her opposite big toe. Her mother had scolded her for running around barefoot, but what did she care? It was summer - she wore shoes all the blasted school year, and they pinched.   
  
Her balance shifted and she had to lurch to keep the tray from toppling. The two glasses clinked together and Gendry turned, dark hair hanging sweaty in his face. He grinned when he saw her, grabbing a towel and mopping off his forehead. “What’re you doin’ down here?”  
  
Arya raised an eyebrow and lifted the tray an inch higher. “Sewing lessons, whadaya think?” She stepped inside the cool shade of the garage and set the tray on an old tool chest, pushing herself up to sit next to it. “Thought you and Jory’d be thirsty.”  
  
Gendry tossed his towel aside, eyeing the tray. “There’s only two glasses. And you know Jory’s gone into town, I heard him say goodbye to you.”  
  
 _Damn_. He was more observant than she’d counted on. Arya chewed the inside of her lip and shrugged. “Are you thirsty, or no?”  
  
“Pour.” He leaned against the old jalopy of a truck in the garage, taking the glass once it was full. He took a sip, and his face twisted. “Christ almighty, what’s in this?”  
  
“Lemons, what do you think?” Arya nibbled one of the cookies.  
  
“Anything else?”   
  
“It’s lemonade. What else does it need?”  
  
Gendry’s thick eyebrows arched. “Sugar, maybe? Water? Hell, even soap would be better than this.”  
  
“Oh, shut your gob, it’s fine!” Arya replied hotly. “See?” As if to prove her point she took a long, healthy swallow if it and nearly gagged. Her teeth ached it was so sour, and it brought tears to her eyes. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she looked for some place to spit it, finally setting on the hydrangeas just outside the garage.   
  
“Hey! I just spent four hours busting my hump over those!” Gendry called out indignantly. Arya extended a choice digit to him, still spitting over the bushes, and he burst out laughing. “So ladylike.”  
  
“Do I look like a lady to you?” Arya returned to the garage, resuming her perch and crossed her arms.  
  
Gendry gave her a once-over, and suddenly the summer afternoon went from sweltering to blistering. He was looking at her, really looking at her. No one ever looked at Arya - she was all knobbly knees and dirty elbows and knotted hair. Gendry grinned. “No, you look like a ten-year-old boy.”  
  
Something fluttered and landed hard in Arya’s stomach and it took everything she had not to let it show on her face. She jutted her chin out. “Better a ten-year-old boy than some big sweaty lummox.”  
  
“Lummox?” Gendry took a cookie and popped the whole thing in his mouth, grinning in that way of his. “I’ll have you know I work hard to look like a lummox.”  
  
“You beat up an old leather laundry bag.” Arya shrugged, her heels banging against the tool chest. “Doesn’t look that hard.”  
  
“No?” He chuckled this time, and nodded towards the bag. “Go on then, take a few swings. Let’s see what you got.”  
  
Arya hopped off the tool chest and crossed over in front of the punching bag. It hung from a thick chain fastened to a hook in the ceiling, swinging slightly  still from when Gendry had been practicing. He strode over and steadied it, then leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on.”  
  
Arya took a breath, made a fist, and slammed it with all her might into the bag. It didn’t move, and instead Arya felt as though her wrist had been driven up to her elbow.  She lurched back, keeping her yell of pain behind her lips, but only just. Gendry doubled over laughing, hands on his thighs.  
  
“Not so easy, is it!” He chuckled as Arya shook out her hand, scowling. “C’mon, let me see your fist, first off.”  
  
Arya clenched it, and he nodded, still laughing a little. “Good, good. You keep your thumb on the outside. Some new kids tuck it into their palm, and all that’ll get you is a broken thumb. Now, stand here,” He took her shoulders and positioned her in front of the bag, turning her just so. His hands were hot on her bare shoulders, palms slightly damp. “Alright,  now, what you were doing is just sort of flailing around with your arm like a...” He pursed his lips and stood back, thinking. “You ever see a goose, you know how its neck is all loose and shit sometimes?” Arya nodded. “Good. That’s your arm, all loosey-goosey.”  
  
Arya giggled - she couldn’t help it. “Loosey-goosey?”  
  
Gendry grinned again, shucking hair out of his eyes. She hadn’t noticed how blue they were before...they looked nice. “Yup. Now, watch.” He adopted the same stance right next to her, and in a fluid motion, his left arm shot forward. The impact was hard, setting the bag swinging again. “See?”  
  
“...no.”  
  
Gendry gave her an exasperated look, steadying the bag again. “Alright, um...Lord, it’s been so long since I learned this. Here.” He stood behind her, covering her left fist with his hand and drawing it back. He was able to palm her hand easily, and it made her feel a little funny, truth be told. He mimicked his earlier movement, barely tapping her knuckles against the rough leather. “Try to punch _through_ the bag.” He stepped back, and nodded at her. “Try it again. Remember, _through_ the bag.”  
  
Arya nodded again, and punched. It was just as jarring, but this time the bag at least shuddered. “God almighty, what’s that _filled_ with, concrete?” She shook her hand again, feeling like she’d just punched a wall.  
  
“Just sand, and rocks from the river in the bottom. That was better, though. Not great; you wouldn’t take anyone down, but it’s a start.” He looked her over again, and again she felt like it got twenty degrees warmer. “You’re so skinny...let’s try this.” Gendry crouched down in front of her, holding out his hands like baseball mitts. “Try hitting my hands. Your left to my right, and vice versa. Alright?”  
  
“What if I hurt you?” Arya was in turns unsure and annoyed at the way he laughed.  
  
“Arry, you couldn’t hurt a fly right now.”  
  
“That’s not true!” Arya knew how to hit people, just not how to _punch_ them. Apparently there was a difference.  
  
“Alright, alright, my mistake. You couldn’t hurt _me_ right now. I’ve taken hits from guys whose left leg weighs more than you. Better?”

“Fine.” Arya nodded once. “Ok, here I go.”   
  
His palms were far easier for her to hit, and as she went on he nodded approvingly. As Arya got the hang of it, her blows came quicker and quicker, each one more sure than the last. There was something relaxing about it, _cathartic_ , Sansa would say. Without warning, though, Gendry suddenly moved one of his hands, raising it about six inches. Arya wasn’t ready for it and went flying forward, her face ramming into his bare chest.  
  
  
“What gives?!” Arya yelped, straightening. Her face was flushed, and just from the exertion. “What do you think you’re doing?” She blew hair out of her eyes while he chuckled.  
  
“Well, in a fight your opponent’s not going to stand still, is he?” Gendry seemed vastly amused, and Arya fought off the overwhelming urge to kick him in the shins.  
  
“Well, no, but I’m not fighting you. You’d never hit me.”  
  
“If you hit me first I would.” He grinned again, and Arya decided he had nice teeth. Very even. Very white. _How’s he keep them from getting knocked down his throat?_ “You could be good though, with a little practice. I could teach you.”  
  
Arya snorted. “Just like Theon said he’d he’d teach me to shoot?”  
  
Gendry shrugged and picked up another cookie, breaking it in half and offering it to her. “He’s got a wife and kid on the way. That sorta stuff eats up a man’s time. Now, I don’t have a wife and if I’ve got a kid on the way no one’s told me about it, so my free time’s mine.”  
  
“Really?” Arya cocked her head. “You’d show me more?  
  
“Sure. You’re what, twelve? Eleven? ‘nother few years and you’ll be beating the boys back with a stick anyway.”  
  
“I’m fourteen in three weeks!” Arya was indignant. Just because she looked like a ten-year-old boy doesn’t mean she was one. And anyway, she did look like a girl! Just...maybe not when she wore a too-big shirt tied up at the waist and a pair of Sansa’s old pants, rolled up at the ankles. “And I’ve already hit boys with sticks.”  
  
Gendry laughed at that and ruffled her hair again. “I’m sure you have. Now run up to the house - your mother’ll be wondering where you are. Come back down tomorrow around four or five and I’ll show you a few more moves.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Sure! Oh, one more thing.” Gendry caught her arm. “Don’t, uh, don’t tell your mom or your big brother. They probably wouldn’t approve, y’know? Boxing isn’t very ladylike and all that. This’ll be our secret”  
  
Arya grinned. She was good at keeping secrets. “Right.”


End file.
